


Flashed Junk Mind

by ConvertingCriminals



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:23:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvertingCriminals/pseuds/ConvertingCriminals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpt from "Marching with The Musketeers" ClazzyKlass.com - June 2015.<br/>"The sudden return of, not three, but four Musketeers has left the fans reeling for more. In what originally seemed like the death of a career has became something teenagers and adults alike everywhere dream of."</p><p>He never set out to join a band, he never planned to play music along side three of the most extraordinary men he’d ever have the pleasure to meet, but it happened, and who was D’artagnan to complain?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boxer

It was loud, loud enough to not be able to hear your own thoughts past the ringing in your ears. The shouts, screams, and cheers were vibrating down to your bones and it was exhilarating and frightening and everything else all at once. You belatedly realise somebody patting your shoulder, a sign of good look in passing and you can’t breathe anymore. The air is taken from your lungs as if you’ve been out there screaming along with them. Another touch pulls the air back into you, a soothing motion that makes you sway as they say something that you couldn’t quite hear. There’s a gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach, a lingering want to run and hide back where you came from, but the hands at your shoulders rock you once more, grounding you into this moment. You know right then that you’ve made it.

It would have been nice if that's where it all ended.

 

\--------------------------------

 

When D’artagnan awoke the first thing he felt was pain lancing through his head in what could be, quite possibly, the most painful headache he’d earned from a rough night of filled cups. The second thing he felt was lost, his mind empty of the majority of memories regarding last night. He remembered stumbling into the bar and chipping down his sorrows into the nearest beverage available. The loss of his father still heavy on his mind, being so far away from his hometown was also as difficult. But he had managed to survive, finding a small job in a cafe and an apartment of his own shortly on arrival to Paris.

    
He sighed, rubbing at his temples as if trying to banish the haze that fogged his memory along with his pounding headache. What he did manage to remember as he quickly got dressed was fragmented, small shards of memory that cut through his skull; he remembered a bar, - or maybe it was a club because of the harsh lights - he remembered ordering drinks and then he remembered him falling backwards and being carted away. There was a phantom pain in his hand, from where he must have been in some kind of fight, or quite simply just punched some unsuspecting person in the face - probably the latter, considering the lack of injury on his person.

   
He quickly decided not to dwell on it for too long, whatever happened last night should continue being a memory lost among the drunks, he hopes whoever, or whatever, he punched last night will do the same. He sighed, long and suffering before deeming it an adequate amount of time he had taken to mull over last nights incidents, he then pulled himself up slowly - carefully, not to move his throbbing head more than necessary.

   
If he showered, got dressed and tidied himself up for the day me might even have time or breakfast before having to rush off to work - wishful thinking really, from the look of the time he was running late already. Without much more thought he flung himself into his albeit late morning routine. With a quick last glance around his flat to make sure nothing was amiss he made his was out the door, tugging on his worn jacket as he went. His flat was on the 5th floor, and while the stairs could be much quicker than waiting for the old lift to reach his floor he didn’t trust himself not to throw up on the way down.

   
The ding that indicated the lift was on his floor set him off in a short jog towards the doors

   
“Hold the lift!” D’artagnan shouted as a dark skinned arm reached out to do just that, “Thank you” He panted out, already exhausted. He gave another mental note to never drink again.

   
D’artagnan looked up at the man who had held the lift for him and gave his thanks once more as he checked the lift was going to the ground floor. He sighed, running his hand across his face and leaning against the wall.

   
“Rough night?” The voice was joyful, almost smug in the way it questioned D’artagnans actions.

   
“I guess you could call it that from what I remember of it” He looked up at the man then, He was good looking, dark skinned and fit, his face held a smile that looked like it hardly ever left him.  
The men looked back at him, his smile turning into an amused smirk before turning back. D’artagnan couldn’t help the feeling that he knew something he didn't, like maybe his shirt was inside-out? Nope, he had managed the skill of dressing oneself that morning.

   
“Porthos.” The man - Porthos - offered his hand which D’artagnan was quick to shake, “Have you been here long….” He trailed off, the unasked question of his name hung in the air as the lift shook to a halt at their floor.

   
“D’artagnan” Was offered in return, feeling unease wash over him as he wondered why he felt as if he had already met the man before him. The lift doors opened before he was able to question if they had met before and Porthos patted him on the back with a ‘I’ll see you around’, taking off towards the exit before D’artagnan’s hungover state even had time to process the friendly action.

 

\-----

 

The sun was high in the sky when he exited the building, only making his mood worsen when the heat smothered him as he begins his short walk to the cafe, praying his boss would accept his hangover as punishment for being late.

   
His manager - and only friend upon entering Paris - was a beautiful lady by the name of Constance - wife of Bonacieux - who, in D’artagnans opinion, didn’t deserve somebody like Constance. But she was happy, while her husband's tailored the finest clothes she ran a quaint coffee shop called ‘tous pour un’ which origins still remain a mystery to him. They met they day after his arrival when grief hadn’t quite struck him down and he was too preoccupied to let him dwell on the lingering sadness. She had offered him a job and helped him find a place to live ‘It’s okay D’artagnan, I know somebody who knows somebody’ She had replied when he questioned how she managed to find him a place to stay so quickly. The relief he felt when he met Constance was something he’d never be able to compare too,and here he was, repaying her by stumbling through her shop doors hungover and looking worse for wear.

   
“Before you even say anything I have no idea what the other guy looks like.” D’artagnan raised his hands in surrender as he made his way around the counter, pointedly looking anywhere but Constance in that moment.

   
The lecture was expected, the half disappointed looks were harder to ignore.In the end Constance settled on huffing out a sigh. “Boys!” She conceded before putting D’artagnan to work while pushing a much appreciated cup of coffee into his hands.

   
The shop was quiet when he arrived, not quite ready to begin the afternoon rush of businessmen and travelers wanting there lunchtime fix of baked goods and warm coffee. He set himself to filling the displays with the freshly baked pastries and cakes, still warm from the oven.

   
It was only after he had finished setting up the display, cleaning the counters and setting up the chairs outside the store did he notice the soft strumming of a guitar leading up with humming that was so quiet D’artagnan wouldn't have been able to hear it if he wasn’t listening out for it. He followed the sound back inside, his eyes searching out for the sound as he followed it around a corner. It was a man who seemed completely oblivious to D’artagnan’s unabashed staring. It was quite beautiful really, a handsome man with sun-kissed skin lounging on the windowsill - guitar in hand - as sun grazed his face, his eyes closed as he hummed and swayed gently to his own music. D’artagnan bet he was the romantic type.

   
His curiosity piqued, wanting to know who the man was, he went in search of Constance.

   
“That would be Aramis,” She replied after found her cleaning the tables in the back, “He comes in here to play sometimes, the ladies love it.” She scoffed as if it were something completely unheard of.

   
“Why have I never seen him around before?”

   
“Probably because you’re never here before noon.” He frowned at her before she continued, “He works at a fancy restaurant in the city most afternoons so you wouldn’t catch him.”

   
“Oh.”

   
“Yes, Oh. Now come on, get to work before the ladies all flock here at the sound of music.”

 

\---

 

The rest of his shift was mostly uneventful, he spent the majority of his time serving the people who needed their fix of caffeine, occasionally making his way to the back to clean the tables and observe the man - Aramis - and the way he left the women swooning in their seats as he gazed across the tables, occasionally winking and smiling at the crowd. 

 

Soon he found himself regaining some of his lost memory, he had tried to punched somebody - that much was obvious - only he missed and hit his hand off a wall and he remembered being hauled around by strong hands that made sure he wasn’t going to vomit. He remembers giving his address to somebody but not remembering how he got home. He sighed, running his hands through his hair to banish the hazy thoughts from is mind.

  
It was around 4pm, when the shop floor was less busy, that D’artagnan made his last trip around to clean tables. This time humming along with the music, only looking up occasionally. Eventually he found himself being observed as he collected cups and plates, giving a quick smile in offering as to not make things awkward. Aramis just smirked in return, another personal joke that D’artagnan seemed to be missing out on.

   
When It finally rolled around to 5pm He bid his farewells only to find Aramis had already left at some point, Constance just shrugged saying he comes and goes when he pleases but bidding her own farewell in return.

   
“Try to be more careful!” She scolded as he grabbed his coat.

   
“I can promise that I’ll try, not that I’ll be successful!” She sighed with a smile as he left.

 

\---

 

D’artagnan was exhausted when he got back to his apartment block that he hardly registered most of his surroundings, he passed the man from this morning - Porthos - His brain helpfully supplied, who nodded his head in greeting with a smile. He was conversing with another man who bid him a farewell as D’artagnan made his way to the lift. Still in a half daze he didn’t realise when the man stepped into the space next to him, waiting for the lift to reach the ground floor. He didn’t look up until the doors opened, hurrying in as to not hold up the main next to him.

   
He was too focused on the past days events that he didn’t even realise when he had reached his floor, the man catching his attention with a small cough.

   
“We’re at your floor.” He said with what could only be a small smug smile. As if he was aware that D’artagnan was so lost in his own thoughts that he lost himself. D’artagnan frowned at himself before offering a thanks, stepping out of the lift before realisation dawned on him.

   
He turned to stare at the vaguely familiar man standing in the lift, the doors shutting on him.

 

He hadn’t pressed his floors button when he entered the lift.

   
“Oh god.”


	2. A man / Me / Then Jim

 

April, 2014.

 

It was commonly known that Constance was a good listener, whether it be the average town gossip or the most heart wrenching conversation possible she would give the person her utmost attention and offer as much help and advice as she possibly could, because why would she not? Why would she deprive somebody the help they need when she could so freely give it. It’s what she will never understand about horrible people, that they’ll go out of their way to make others miserable. 

 

What it didn’t explain was why D’artagnan was at work so early, pacing back and forth frantically, running his hands through his hair and explaining that  he’s a colossal idiot - that she won’t disagree with. What she managed to understand from his incoherent ramblings from previous encounters is that he went drinking the other week, tried to start a fight, failed and got escorted home by his victim (who also lives in same apartment block as him, as does his friend).

 

“Do I attempt to apologize? If so how do I go about it? Do I just wait around the lobby and hope they pass by?” He listed though ways he would go about this, all the while Constance gradually became more and more dizzy with his thought process. This had been going on all week, he’d come into work, fret about it and then carry on, it was normal but obviously D’artagnan was still not used to a busy city life.  It was only after his drop into self loathing did she step in, grabbing a dish cloth from the counter and flicking it across the back of his head.

 

“Would you stop it! You’re a nuisance you are.” She huffed as he rubbed the back of his head, looking almost like a scolded puppy. “If anything it shows how sorry you are by how much this is possessing your mind. But dwelling on it will do you nothing, let it go, and if he happens to cross your path again then you apologize.”

 

Her hands were firm as she placed the on her hips, as if her body language would cement the statement she’d been trying to get through his head all week.

 

“I want no more of this talk. What I do want is the chairs set out the front and that charming smile to bring in loyal ladies”

 

D’artagnan huffed out a laugh “Don’t you have Aramis for that?”

 

“Those ladies are only loyal until he breaks their heart and then they’re gone to pick up the pieces.” She scoffed, throwing the dishcloth over her shoulder as she moved to clean the display glass of grimy fingerprints from people pointing at what they want rather than simply telling her.

 

“I resent that,” A voice came from behind D’artagnan, “I’ll have you know I break no hearts because I’ve never accepted anybodies heart.” Aramis gave a wink at D’artagnan who only raised an eyebrow in response. Over the last few days D’artagnan had gotten used to Aramis’ charm, his original assumption was highly correct; Aramis was a romantic.

 

“Is that what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night?” D’artagnan quipped, his smile turning smug as Aramis frowned slightly, only quickly turning into a smirk of his own.

 

“Sounds like mostly wishful thinking on your part sweetcheeks.”

 

“Oh Aramis, I dream that you were only mine, blah blah” The theatrics were awful but the mood was playful and warm.

 

Constance watched with a small smile, glad that they were getting along at least.

 

“So what’s the matter with Young D’artagnan? “ Aramis inquired, leaning his back against the counter and while the question was about D’artagnan himself he couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t supposed to answer.

 

“He apparently almost got into a drunken fight with a stranger, and then got escorted home.” Luckily Constance choose this moment to embarrass him, only instead of laughing at him like he thought he would Aramis only smiled, the smile that looked like he knew something D’artagnan didn’t - the look that D’artagnan was highly beginning to hate.

 

“Oh?” D’artagnan groaned, leaning forward on the counter and clutching his head in his hands.

 

“Don’t you have something you should be doing? Like, I don’t know singing about love and fields and roses.”  He frowned up at Aramis who only laughed in response.

 

“Why would I do that when teasing you brings so much enjoyment?” He laughed again before turning back towards Constance who had moved onto filing away the clean cups and saucers. “Good mornings aside, Athos will be popping in later”, Constance grunted in response indicating for him to continue. “You know how things have been for him Stance” He reasoned softly, causing Constance to only glare in response.

 

“What I do know is that you three are fools, what are you doing Aramis?” She heaved a long suffering sigh. D’artagnan looked between the pair feeling very at odds in the conversation that was turning personal. He quietly excused himself to the backroom while they continued bickering, deciding now a good time to get ready to begin his day of work.

 

\------

 

When D’artagnan got called out to the front counter it was beginning to get busy. Few tables had been filled and there was a small que beginning to form, all full of busy men with newspapers who glanced at their watch every 3 seconds and tapped there foot against the floor as if it were going to speed up the transactions, sometimes D’artagnan wanted to take these people aside and explain to them that waiting 3 minutes in a que wasn’t the end of the world, and if they were late then it was their own fault for not leaving earlier.

 

The sounds of peaceful music began to weave itself though the tables once the majority of tables were filled, indicating that Aramis was perched in his usual spot on the windowsill under the watchful eyes of many patrons. D’artagnan found himself humming along to the melody as he started the coffee grinder, tapping his feet before turning to the awaiting customer with a smile and handing over the drink. He will never understand workplaces that didn’t have good music; the way people can work in the silence and not appreciate the way good music can make the worst of moods lift away if you open yourself to let it. The singing started shortly after and D’artagnan found himself finishing the que quickly, as if he subconsciously wanted to enjoy the music peacefully.

 

He turned back to the coffee machine, quickly emptying out the grout before starting to make a drink he was suddenly very adept at making. He had never tried it himself but he was able to make it perfectly, a simple latte with a shot of hazelnut caramel and a small amount of brandy that was hidden under the counter for this soul purpose. He made quick work of wiping away excess milk before picking out a toothpick to decorate the drink, glancing around to make sure all the customers were settled before he made his way over to the far corner.

 

Aramis was mid song when D’artagnan got closer, he choose not to disturb the peaceful musician and placed it on the edge of the ledge where it wasn’t going to be knocked off, Aramis sent a smile in thanks and D’artagnan waved him off before dotting around the tables to clear away the dirty cups.

 

It was only shortly after did Constance come back out to the front counter, coat on and her bag lay over her shoulder.

 

“I’m going for a late lunch with my husband; you think you’ll be okay on your own? ”She smoothed down her hair and adjusted her coat, only glancing around the shop to evaluate the pros and cons of leaving him on his own. Since it was later in the day and most of the lunch rush people had cleared off back to work D’artagnan was more than capable to look after the shop.

 

“Tell the husband I said Hi.”

 

“Yes I’m sure he’ll love that” She rolled her eyes, “Look after Aramis” he laughed as she made her exit.

 

 

\---------

 

It was raining and the stream of customers had died down enough for D’artagnan to take a break and watch the rain pour. Since there wasn’t anybody really to impress Aramis had taken to playing small quick melodies and play about with the tuning of his guitar. D’artagnan had his foot propped up against his own chair, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and head propped up against his arm. It was one of the moments you take for granted but always enjoy. Having enjoyed himself for long enough he stretched out his arms and gave a small yawn, deciding getting up and actually working would help his tired eyes.

 

Preparing the dough and batter to be baked tomorrow morning was his priority right now, he spent little over a hour running back and forth between serving the few people that came in and rolling out dough. He was just finishing up the last batch of cookies to be left in the fridge overnight when the doorbell rang again. He wiped down his hands and made his way back though to the front, despite the fact he was still covered in flour.

 

A greeting was on his lips before he stopped short, in front of him was the man from the week before, the man who he attempted to start a fight with, and the man who seemed not at all put out by D’artagnans behavior but rather amused as a small smile tugged at the corners of the mans mouth.

 

D’artagnan thanked god for small fortunes at the fight of Aramis barreling around the corner to distract the man from D’artagnans presence.

 

“Athos!” Aramis boomed, reaching out to embrace what appeared to be a close friend. It all seemed to make sense suddenly, the small knowing smiles and inside jokes. They were all there the night D’artagnan got utterly wasted and had to be escorted home by what appeared to be the three men he had recently encountered, it was slightly ironic.

 

There greeting was over quickly and D’artagnan was still standing around like a fool, Aramis noticed him before he was able to amble away.

 

“Ah! You’ve met D’artagnan have you not?” He hated Aramis, and the fact he now knew he knew. That the topic of that fateful night was never mentioned fully but only referenced too. D’artagnan would say he was grateful, but this encounter wasn’t something he was thankful for.

 

“I have, although by the looks of the young fellow he wishes I hadn’t.” The laugh was short, he looked at D’artagnan in a way that wasn’t quite judging but as close enough as he glanced over him.

 

Aramis found the situation hilarious though, “No hard feelings right?”

 

That seemed to be end of that conversation and D’artagnan listened as they spoke about their days, about where Constance was and finally, about music.

 

“We should play, just like old times.” Aramis offered, Athos looked slightly pained before looking elsewhere.

 

“Not today, some other day.” Aramis sighed, the mechanical answer obvious to anybody. “Do you enjoy music?”

 

D’artagnan was startled out of the small daze he let himself into, “As much as the next person who enjoys nice things I suppose.”

 

The smile that graced Athos’ lips was warm as he continued, “Ever learn to play anything?”

 

“Guitar, although I’m out of practice since I left the farm to move to Paris.”

 

Athos rubbed his chin as he took in the information. “A fitting instrument for somebody like yourself.”

 

D’artagnan was suddenly hit with sadness to be able to take in the words that was just spoken, the thoughts of his home sinking into him all at once, he forced a smile though, careful not to let it show until he got home.

 

“Anyway, let Constance know she missed me.” Athos said after a pause, making his visit short. “It was nice meeting you D’artagnan.” They turned towards the exit as D’artagnan nodded in agreement.

 

“We should see each other more Athos, get Porthos out more too.” Athos laughed softly, walking to the door with Aramis following.

 

“If you’re able to catch him.”

 

Aramis groaned, “Is he still at it? One of these days they’re gonna catch on that he’s not playing fair and then he’s going to be in a awful situation.”

 

“Let’s keep wishing that they’ll not catch on then shall we?”

 

The conversation was muffled by the door as it closed, Aramis was coming back though moments later, sending a swift smile at D’artagnan before returning to his spot.

 

\---------

 

He knew it was somewhere, somewhere in his apartment. He remembered the box it was shipped in and he remembered packing it. Only he never really remembered unpacking it.

 

here was a pile of belongings that had yet to be unpacked still in the living room and D’artagnan was taking his time to unpack things as he searched. It was just his luck that it happened to be in the last box he opened.

 

His guitar, a bit old and a bit roughed up from use of being on a farm but it was his. It was something his dad had bought him long ago when D’artagnan complained enough the fields being too quiet, that sounds of nature was nice but it was too repetitive. It had been so long since he has touched it, and for some reason now seemed like the right time; he tuned it swiftly and then gently strummed his fingers along the strings, only stopping at the thoughts of home.

 

He propped it against the wall before moving to open his window to let in fresh air, the feelings that overwhelmed him had made him hot and clammy, wanting to feel the fresh breeze on his face and year the sounds of Paris.

 

He glanced at his guitar again before listening to the world outside.

 

Somebody was singing.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rushed this chapter because I was so excited over the fact people we're actually interested in reading it (was not expecting this at all! like wow thank you so much guys). Just throwing this out there that this is my first major attempt at writing fanfiction and I'm pretty worried about what you'll all think of it so bare with me! Hopefully the chapters will continuously get longer!
> 
> Once again, Unedited because its 1am and I've just done two 14 hour shifts in a row. 
> 
> Song is A man/ Me / Then Jim by Rilo Kiley (please recommend me music for this! And I'll start up a playlist for it!)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has became a long time in the making, I hope you'll give it a chance really. (This is a unedited chapter but I wanted to post it straight away, sorry.)  
> Thanks everybody!
> 
> The name of the story is by a band called MIlky Chance  
> The boxer is by Simon and Garfunkel


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